Iii

Dead air, dead fire, dead shapes and shadows, telling Time nought; Man gives them sense and soul by song, and dwelling In thought.

In human thought their being endures, their power Abides: Else were their life a thing that each light hour Derides.

The years live, work, sigh, smile, and die, with all They cherish; The soul endures, though dreams that fed it fall And perish.